It's Love
by CarlileLovesAnime
Summary: Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman, and Angel are out, and Fang has plans for a good time with Max... ONESHOT


**Fax (****Maximum Ride**** – James Patterson) one-shot awesomeness! I don't own the ****Maximum Ride**** series, Max, Fang (sadly), or anything else related to it, so DON'T SUE ME!!! I also don't own either of the songs ("Sorrow" by Flyleaf, "Broken" by Seether ft. Amy Lee). All I own is this computer and my cat. **

0o.o0o.o0

Today I feel abnormally feminine. I sit at the vanity before the mirror in my room, leisurely running a brush through my damp hair.

"Sometimes life seems to quiet into paralyzing silence, like the moonless dark meant to make me strong, familiar breath of my old lies changed the color in my eyes, soon he will perforate the fabric of the peaceful by and by," I sing softly to my reflection.

After working through the knots in my tresses, I take ahold of the foundation Nudge let me borrow. I screw the cap off, not caring where I flick it off to, and carelessly dab it on my face. My melodic recital continues. "Sorrow lasts through this night, I'll take this piece of you and hold for all eternity, for just one second I felt whole as you flew right through me."

I shove the makeup aside when I can swear I see a black mass behind me. It disappears just as quickly as I hallucinate it. _Did_ I hallucinate it?

A moment passes of me sitting and staring intently into the reflective glass, particularly at the area behind me. Ears pricked. Back erect. Expression flat.

Meh. It's got to be my mind playing tricks on me. I reach for the lipstick when I see the black flash again!

Rare is the day I wear makeup. Perhaps I'm subconsciously telling myself not to? To test this possibility, I shove all my cosmetics toward the back of the wood surface. I unfurl my feathers very slowly and begin preening them, picking crumbs and burs out of the nooks and crannies.

No good. The black shock appears again.

I begin singing again, nervousness distorting my voice. "Left alone with only reflections of the memory to face the ugly girl that's smothering me, sitting closer than my pain, he knew each tear before it came, and soon he will perforate the fabric of the peaceful by and by."

My crooning doesn't affect the flash, apparently. Glaring doggedly at the spot it keeps appearing via the mirror, I say with my steadiest voice, "Don't start with me. I'll finish it."

No response but dead silence, the feeling of being watched, and another flash of black a few seconds later.

Drawing in my wings, I try to remain calm. This is probably nothing—just crazy old Max seeing things. Yeah. That's it.

I play like I've let my guard down, continuing putting on my makeup (very awkwardly, by the way) and singing, "Sorrow lasts through this night, I'll take this piece of you and hold for all eternity, for just one second I felt whole as you flew right through me."

But before I know it, I lose myself in my act; I become entranced in my grooming and chanting.

And then I feel a force on my scalp. Gentle, but still noticeable. Before I can peer at the mirror, my head tilts back slightly, and my chocolate brown eyes slam shut.

For the next short while I can feel a pair of hands tugging gingerly, gracefully weaving strands of my dark-blond-light-brown hair around each other. This feeling is so pleasing that I become a little sleepy.

I sit up when it's done. And then, looking into the mirror, overcome with serenity, I smile at the pleasant surprises.

One) My hair is now done for the day, in a perfect braid, with a ribbon tying it at the bottom.

Two) Behind me is Fang.

"All right," I chuckle, "So I'm not crazy."

He shrugs.

I turn to look him in those dark eyes. "Thanks," I say, stroking my locks.

"No prob," he replies. A hint of a smile brightens his serious face as he shrugs.

Turning again and finishing my makeup, I ask, "Where did you learn how to braid hair so well?"

"Years of watching you."

"Yeah, well, I've watched Iggy in the kitchen for years but I still can't cook."

That earns me a tiny smirk from him. Tiny. "I can't build bombs like the Gasman, and I've seen him do it all the time."

Chuckling, I add, "Well, I watch Nudge put on makeup almost every morning but right now I am totally clueless."

He takes a couple step forward and plants his palms on my vanity, standing tall next to me. "Up until not too long ago, I'd been with you all the time, but I never knew how to kiss you."

My eyes trace up his long arms, past his firm shoulders, and land on his calm face. Gripping his forearms, I pull his face down to mine and lock our lips together, bringing him to his knees.

"Neither did I," I add when we release each others' muzzles and press the tips of our noses together.

Gazing into his dark eyes at such a close proximity makes me go wild. My lips tingle as my mind retreats into the dreamy land of blackish-purple feathers and is locked in there by my frenzied heart. This is what it's like to be in love, I figure, because at what other time would I use intuition like this? I'm lost and don't want to find my way anymore.

"Nudge and Gazzy are picking apples. Iggy and Angel are skipping rocks at the lake," he says. It amazes me how composed he always is, and makes me wonder if he is freaking out on the inside, like me.

"Just what are you implying?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just updating you on everyone's location."

Two words: Bull. Crap.

"Fang, when you've known a person all your life, it's easy to gain insight into what they're actually thinking."

Seconds tick on by. Minutes. The two of us are in silent bliss, staring at each other with carefree longing. The gentle panting breath of my right-wing-man tickling my jaw; the glow in his skin as it is hit by the still waking sun; the warmth between his fingers spreading as they slowly wrap around my knuckles; the endless sea of thoughts, feelings, memories, and desires coloring his shady eyes. It all seems so surreal, so dreamy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the human-raven's wing seeping out from behind him, like a feathery tsunami. It gradually fans straight out, cutting off the gleam from the window and embracing me in a soft ebony wall. In response, one of my wings emerges and touches the end of his. It's a hug, more or less.

This reminds me of a time when Fang and I were younger and Jeb had just taken us away from the School. We had never been though a thunderstorm before and were very scared while one roared on through the night. He and I sat on Jeb's bed all night, holding each other and shivering from freight while watching in horror as light crashed down from the heavens.

The whole scene now is like a painting, frozen in time. A very emotional and charming picture. With two teenage mutants: one kneeling on the floor beside the other, seated on an ornate vanity bench, both of them swathed by thick blankets of brown and black feathers. Noses pressed together. Hand in hand. Lost in one another's eyes. There is an air of romantic serenity and electricity. Serenity in the moment; electricity in what the moment could become.

"Remember our first thunderstorm?" he asks, reminiscent.

"I was thinking the same thing, the thunderstorm," I reply. "Like how scared we were, and how I held onto your arm so tight, you thought I would break it."

"Yeah. And then I took the pillows out of their cases and we put them over our heads."

"And Jeb freaked out because he thought we were trying to suffocate ourselves."

"So he threw the pillow cases off our heads and scolded us! He was so paranoid!"

I laugh nostalgically, followed by a tense, momentary silence.

"And I remember that," he concludes, "When the storm was at its worst, you started singing. We felt a lot better and by the time the song was over we weren't afraid anymore."

I smile. I forgot about that part.

"How come you don't sing that often?" Fang inquires. "Your voice is so beautiful. You should use it."

"I just have other things to think about than singing," I shrug.

He applies force onto my face, sliding our lips together and closing our eyes. Our kiss is long and slow. An addition to the collective time in my life that I think I've died and gone to Heaven.

"Will you sing something for me?" he requests, gorgeous, dusky eyes dancing.

A knot forms at the bottom of my throat. "Only if you'll sing with me."

"Fair enough." He stands, folding his wing back up, and gallantly offers to help me off the seat. I take his gentle hand and use him as leverage to situate myself firm on the floor. My wing retracts as well. "Your selection?"

I think for a moment. "Let's do a duet, like, ooh, what's that song by Amy Lee and Shaun Morgan?"

"Evanescence and Seether?" he confirms.

"Yes. That song form _the Punisher_."

"'Broken'," corrects Fang.

"Oh, right!" I grin. "Let's do that one!"

He exhales in what sounds like part of a chuckle. "Okay."

The music starts simultaneously in our heads.

He takes in a deep breath before starting. "I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh, I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away, I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well, I wanna hold you high and steal your pain."

He continues smoothly onto the chorus as I chime in, our voices in perfect pitch, perfect harmony. "'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right when you're gone away."

"You've gone away," he adds on his own, "You don't feel me here anymore."

As I take a breath for my part, he bows before me, kissing the top of my hand and elegantly pulling me close to him. We stand chest to chest as he releases my fish and cups his hands on my hips. I wrap my arms around his collar in response.

"The worst is over now, and we can breathe again," I purr, "I wanna hold you high and steal my pain away, there's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight, I wanna hold you high and steal your pain."

Then, together. "'Cause I'm broken when I'm open, and I don't feel like I am strong enough. 'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right when you're gone away."

We pause, letting the imaginary instrumentals run. While doing so, we take small steps forward, back, left, right, keeping a dangerously intimate distance.

I rest my chin on his shoulder and shut my eyes when we finish together. "'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome and I don't feel right when you're gone away. You've gone away, you don't feel me here anymore."

The human-raven sends one hand flying up my side, grabbing an arm along the way and following up the limb to my hand, which he holds over my head. He spins me around, dipping me back afterwards. He tips me back to the point that my braid hits the floor.

"Uh, Fang, you can let me up now," I say, my face turning bright red from the rushing blood.

"I can't," he grunts.

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

"I tipped you too far."

We stare at each other. Maybe it's the excess blood shorting out my brain, or maybe that he's pathetic for not being able to let me up, but I try my hardest to choke back a laugh.

"Okay," he instructs, "I'm going to drop you on three."

"Okay," I comply.

"All right, ready? One…two…three."

I feel his fingers slip off my back slowly, deliberately. Without the support from him, I crash to the floor, exploding in a fit of laughter. Why? I still held on to his other hand! He fell with me, landing right on top of me. Our arms fall out beside us and we limply join hands. His black bangs dangle in my eyes.

"Sorry," he comments, smiling.

I groan sarcastically. "Sorry don't cut it, buster."

Fang chuckles a little, then presses his lips against mine repeatedly. Our eyes shut.

Fang has a way of making me crazy. Those eyes, an impenetrable fortress into the abyss of his mind. Those lips, that give me such indescribable pleasure when they kiss me. That voice, smooth as jazz and deep as roaring lion. That body, strong and impressively chiseled by still gentle as silk to the touch. Around him, I become more of a lusty beast than a levelheaded leader!

"Aren't we supposed to do some sparring today?" he asks after the five straight minutes of kissing.

Without a word, I tighten my grip on his hands and knee him in the chest. He is sent backwards, off of me.

"Hey, yeah, we are," I answer.

An expression develops on his face: the expression he gets when he is fighting, ready to close in on his prey, a mix of thrill, anxiety, and bloodlust.

"That's it," he growls facetiously, "You're going down." He stands and stomps to my feet.

"What are you going to do?" I inquire, half nervous, half excited. Just then, he bends down and grabs my ankles. I punch at his fists, howling, "Stop! Stop! No! Uncle!"

The human-raven flings me onto the bed. "K-O'ed!" he gloats.

I strain to sit up, but I manage to lean myself up against the headboard. I lunge at him, latching onto his back and covering his eyes with my hands. "Guess again, chump!" While sliding down the rest of his body, to the floor, I flip his shirt up over his face.

"Real mature, there, Max," he teases. I giggle victoriously. He grips his top and tears it completely off, tossing it at the vanity. It catches at the top right corner of the mirror. Then he looks at me intensely.

I begin to back away, my eyes locked on his. "Fang…? What are you going to do…?"

He shuffles one foot forward. "You better run."

I raise my eyebrows, matching his step; he goes forward one pace, I go backward three paces.

Suddenly he breaks into a mad dash directly at me. I scream, leading him around my bed, and now I'm trapped in the corner.

"Uncle!" I shout, "U-N-C-L-E!" But I don't mean it. And he knows that. Fang picks me up and sets me down gingerly on the mattress. He stands over me for a minute.

Something compels me to grab his shoulders and slam im down on the bed with me. While he lies on his back, arms and legs sprawled out, I lay my chest and head on his collarbone, tracing my fingers up and down his toned abdominals. He holds the back of my head with a warm hand.

"You rock," I compliment dreamily, lazily batting my eyes open and shut.

"You too," he breathes.

My ear is pressed against his b=ribcage, and I can hear the rapid beat of his heart echoing in my mind. I open my brown eyes and peer down his chest to his belly button. I breezily run my finger down to it and draw circles around the tiny hole. His muscles spasm as I encompass the ticklish spot. He sifts his fingers into my hair.

When I feel his pants, I stop and force my thumb between the waist of his jeans and the elastic of his boxers.

"Max, are you crazy?" he whimpers as I begin kissing his neck.

"Yes, and it's your fault, Fang. You make me crazy," I breathe between kisses. I pull his pants down a few inches, flowing against the force of his belt.

His heart skips a beat—I can tell. "Seriously?"

I answer him by groping at his belt buckle and unfastening it with one hand.

After a moment of me necking him, he grabs my shoulders and makes me sit up. He sits up, too and unzips my jacket while kicking off his jeans. I take off the light coat and send it flying to the other end of the room. Now in my tank top, I slide off my Capri pants and throw them down next to his blue jeans. I embrace him, my chest at his head. He wraps his arms around me and, sticking his hands up my shirt, rubs them up and down my bare back. I kiss at his neck more.

I remember everything that I should remember now as a teenage mutant girl in this situation, what everyone's said to me before about abstinence and all that jazz. What would really become of us if we…?

When he snaps my bra strap against my skin, I shudder. Before I know it, I'm lying on my back, Fang in a pushup position on top of me.

He glares at me. "Stop! Enough!" His hands pin my wrists to the mattress.

I eye him back with a lack of understanding.

"All I wanted to do when I went into your room was compliment you on your singing voice, but then I saw you and I don't know what came over me and—I know I'm lame for saying this, but…I wanna wait till marriage." He swallows hard. Then he collapses down onto me, head on my chest. "I'm sorry, Max."

I place my hands on the tanned skin of his back. No. No, this can't end so soon. Not now. Not when I've been waiting four long years for this moment, when I was finally ready to put my love for Fang in a physical form.

I try to convince him otherwise. "Fang, we're lab experiments. With expiration dates. We may not live long enough to get married."

He counters, peering up at me pleadingly, "Then at least I want to die with the dignity that I didn't give in to temptation." He puts his hands underneath my head. "The body is a temple. Let's try not to mutilate it more than it already is."

I sigh. He's right. I begin gently scratching his scalp, enjoying the satiny brush of his jet black hair. I admire his respect for me and his ability to thwart the allure of lust.

"I love you," he mumbles after what seems like forever. Both our breathing rates have slowed, and our heartbeats are calm now. I feel sleepy. Then I notice that his eyes are closed and a warm smile has overtaken his face. He hardly ever smiles, and I feel an overwhelming sense of achievement. He gradually unfurls his wings, draping the two of us in a comforting blanket of black feathers.

"I love you too," I yawn, blinking slowly. And with that, we drift off to a pleasant slumber.


End file.
